


A Question of Love

by spotted_poppy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: And Honestly I Think That's Amazing, And Very Fitting, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, Kidnapping, M/M, My Brain Is So Empty, My boys are sad, Oblivious Sherlock Holmes, Relationship Problems, Seriously Try It, Sherlock Has a Military Kink, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has Low Self-Esteem, The First One Was, Violence, Wow the "Sherlock Holmes Has" Tag Suggestions Are Incredible, ok I'm done now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotted_poppy/pseuds/spotted_poppy
Summary: ~People didn’t love Sherlock - they tolerated him, protected him from self-caused ruin, maybe even cared for him - but they didn’t love him. That was simply unrealistic.~John's new therapist brings up a question of, well - "sentiment," as Mycroft would call it. But before either of them can begin to understand the answer to it, a new threat arises. They've dealt with plenty of threats before- but something's different this time. Something... perhaps that can be described as love. But that's ridiculous - right?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you guys! 
> 
> I'm really excited you decided to click on this little work of mine, I have to tell you it's a very self-indulgent piece and I honestly have no idea how it's going to turn out. I just hope it'll be fun for the ride! This first chapter is a little slow but I am planning what will hopefully be some more intense chapters later on. This isn't beta-ed or Brit-picked, so I apologize for any inaccuracies and awkward pacing, I'm trying my best to bring these characters that I love so much to life!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, I will try to update semi-regularly, or as often as my new college schedule will allow. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> <3

The noise John made from the kitchen sounded suspiciously like a growl - halfway between a groan and a snarl. Sherlock thought it was a new John Noise; he’d have to catalog it once he figured out what exactly John had found to cause it. 

“Sherlock, really? Eyeballs. In my tea kettle? Mrs. Hudson uses it more than me, do you know what she would say if she found these? Bloody hell, we’d be on the streets by the morning.” 

Ah yes. The eyeballs. 

“They’re a very valuable selection of toad eyeballs John, each painstakingly gathered from a variety of research facilities that-“ 

“I don’t bloody care where you got them, I just want them out of my tea kettle! Do you hear me, Sherlock?” 

He couldn’t see John from where he was lying sprawled out on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin in the way that made him feel impervious to the emotional influence of the general populace, but he figured if he could he would be met with one of three John Expressions. Option one: Anger/Frustration, possibly leaning more towards the anger side, but not murderously so. Option two: Disappointment, which is less likely because Sherlock hadn’t cataloged him explicitly saying he had to keep experiments out of the tea kettle, so there’s no direct cause to be disappointed, or option three: Aggravation, either the expression often followed by slightly violent action, or the one in which - 

“Sherlock! Eyeballs. Out of the tea kettle. Now.” 

Sherlock glanced over to find John standing in the doorway of the kitchen, empty tea mug in hand, short blonde hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed, which is a likely possibility as it was - what time was it? Must be morning. Anyway, he was wrong, the John Look of this particular instance was neither of the three - instead, it was this significantly more murderous scowl, one which Sherlock would describe as “Concerning.” 

He felt his own face scrunch up into a simulation of worry. “John, you really should try to express your frustration in more productive ways. All this scowling will give you premature age wrinkles.” 

Instead of riling John up further, the comment caused him to suddenly deflate like an old balloon - sighing out his obvious frustration and stomping back into the kitchen. “No, the stress from my bloody insufferable flatmate is gonna give me wrinkles!” 

Sherlock listened to him glomp around in the other room for a few minutes, grumbling under his breath the entire time. Sherlock would have to properly catalog these John reactions, it seems as if some outside variable was causing his mood to be unusually turbulent. Strange, Sherlock wondered what it was. Maybe he hadn’t been eating well enough recently. 

Several minutes later, John stomped back into the main sitting room with what looked to be a mug full of warm milk, collapsing into his regular chair and sighing, although Sherlock hadn’t done anything to elicit such a reaction. Or, not anything recently. Hmm. Highly unusual. John wasn’t even wearing a jumper, just an old tee shirt and sweatpants. Sherlock didn’t even know he owned sweatpants. 

Inspiration struck suddenly, and Sherlock whisked up from the couch with a flourish of his silk bathrobe. He marched past where John was staring blankly at the opposite wall, being sure to make as little noise as possible as he entered the kitchen. Slowly he began his experiment, grabbing the proper materials and utensils and setting them up with the kind of swiftness and accuracy exclusive to practiced chemists. 

“You better not be doing anything with those eyeballs except _removing them from my tea kettle, Sherlock.”_

He wasn’t about to grace the question with an answer, whether by voice or action. What he did do was open and close the fridge loudly, and silently thank his luck that John had gone grocery shopping recently. 

“Sherlock?” 

Still no answer needed - Sherlock whipped out a frying pan and started the stovetop. 

“Sherlock! What are you doing?” 

After cracking the eggs into the pan, sizzling just slightly with the vegetable oil he put in, Sherlock turned to see John standing in the doorway with a shocked expression on his face. Sherlock turned back to his work before John could catch the pleased grin he couldn’t keep from emerging on his face. 

“Are you actually... making.... breakfast?” 

Sherlock waited, letting the sound of sizzling egg answer for him. John knew he hated rhetorical questions. 

Instead, Sherlock decided to test his hypothesis with a question of his own. “You seem distressed. Why?” 

At the following silence, Sherlock frowned. He turned to see what was wrong and he almost startled in surprise. John was avoiding eye contact, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt in obvious discomfort, almost looking... embarrassed? 

“John?” 

“Oh ah... it’s nothing just uh, tell me when the eggs are done. Thank you. For

uh... making breakfast. Sherlock.” 

At that, John coughed awkwardly and turned back to the sitting room, plopping down in his chair again. By the set of his shoulders, Sherlock could tell he was still uncomfortable. Strange. Quite strange. 

Sherlock considered scrapping his experiment as his hypothesis was clearly incorrect; if it had been malnourishment causing his unusual behavior, John would’ve leaped on the prospect of good food easily available to him and wouldn’t have been so dismissive of his question. However, Sherlock knew he would be much more receptive to further questioning if he was properly fed and was under the impression that Sherlock had done something nice for him, so he calmly flipped the fried eggs in the way John liked them. 

A few minutes later, Sherlock set a plate of fried eggs and lightly burnt toast on the coffee table next to John, startling the smaller man out of some session of deep thought. John smiled at him, and Sherlock stared intently back, sitting slowly down in his own chair across from John with his hands steepled in front of his face. 

John picked up the plate and gestured towards Sherlock with it in a sign of acknowledgment. “Thanks.” 

He started eagerly digging into the breakfast, egg yolk spilling down off the toast and onto the plate in his haste. Hmm. So he had been hungry after all? 

Sherlock continued to observe John as he ate ravenously. He couldn’t tell if John’s obvious avoidance of eye contact with Sherlock was due to his fixation on the breakfast or something else, but whichever case it nearly had to be intentional. Sherlock stared at him intently the whole time, which usually caused him to make some sort of remark on the impoliteness of staring in the civilized public. Sherlock was missing something - had something happened? Had John met someone? Done something compromising that he didn’t want to tell Sherlock? There wasn’t enough data yet. Sherlock was insatiably curious. 

After several long minutes, John finally set the empty plate down, cleaning his face off with a nearby dishtowel. He looked up, noticing Sherlock’s attentive posture and questioning expression. Something darkened in John’s eyes and he sighed once more, sinking back into his chair. 

“What is it, Sherlock?” 

“You’re acting unusually. What happened? Did you meet someone? Hurt something? Did something hurt you?” 

“What? No, god no, Sherlock it’s... well.” John managed to look even more uncomfortable, glancing up at Sherlock and away again in a way that seemed to express more nervousness than agitation.

Whatever it was, he seemed to be worried over Sherlock’s reaction to it. Fascinating. 

Repressing his urge to grab him by the shoulders and demand that John tell him everything, Sherlock schooled his features into one of concern that he knew would look sincere and welcoming to the untrained eye. Sherlock tilted his head in a gently questioning way. 

“Oh it’s... it’s nothing. Really.” John looked up at him again, obviously trying to see if Sherlock would buy it. 

Sherlock pulled out his trump card. “Please?” 

He watched as John silently warred with himself for a few long seconds. 

John sighed loudly in defeat. “Fine, ok. Well... you remember how I started going back to therapy recently?” 

Sherlock did remember. He had been surprised that John was willing to go again after his last therapist had almost shot him in the face. Luckily, she was now once again locked away and under Mycroft’s heightened supervision. To Sherlock’s questioning, John had simply answered, ‘everyone needs help sometimes’ and promptly chose a new therapist. From what he remembered, the first session had gone well. The second one was... well, it would’ve been last night wouldn’t it? 

“Yes.” 

“Well uh...” John fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. “She seems to think... well she is quite under the impression that uh. That I am in love with you.” 

...

What. 

“I know, crazy right? Absolutely ridiculous, I thought so myself. I mean, I’m not gay, as you know and well... I mean, if I was in love with you, I don’t think it would take a therapist to get me to notice, and of course I think it would’ve happened much earlier anyway- since we’ve been living together so long - and I mean, you’re you and we’re best friends, and since Mary died you’ve certainly been a strong support in my life, helping out with Rosie and everything but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with you, so obviously it’s just a strange conclusion to come to, I thought, and-“ 

“She... your therapist.” 

John paused in his ramble to look at Sherlock expectantly. “Yes.” 

“Thinks... you’re in love. With me.” 

“Well um... yeah I suppose. Like I said, it’s a ridiculous conclusion to come to, and I’ve just been thinking about it, and, well, wondering if you would think it’s ridiculous as well, because it is, or if-“ 

“She thinks you’re in love with me? Why?” 

John laughed hesitantly, obviously thinking it a joke. Once he realized Sherlock was not laughing as well, his demeanor softened into a look of slight alarm. 

“Are you... ok? Sherlock? You’ve gone a bit pale...” 

“But you... we...” his brain was going a mile a minute, trying to reconcile this possibility with the data he had on John, while simultaneously feeling shocked as it seemed to line up rather well. But that was... impossible, wasn’t it? A bloke couldn’t well just change his sexuality on a whim- and especially not for Sherlock of all people. Sherlock oscillated between disbelief and confusion. He was shocked that he never decided to consider that possibility before then - he had just considered it out of the question and moved on. It was just as John said - ridiculous. 

“Sherlock?” 

After a pause in which Sherlock’s mind palace was rearranging itself before his eyes- John spoke again. 

“You must know... there is some truth in it. I do love you, as much as any friend can love the other. We’ve been through enough shite together to make that much fairly obvious.” 

Sherlock looked up at him again. That couldn’t be right. Surely enough cases of running through back alleys after criminals and escaping certain death together would cause some... attachment, maybe even sentiment, but... love? The word was barely even fathomable to Sherlock in such a context. Certainly not directed towards him. People didn’t love Sherlock - they tolerated him, protected him from self-caused ruin, maybe even cared for him - but they didn’t love him. That was simply unrealistic. 

“Come on, surely you knew that already?” 

There was no response that could properly express the conflicting opinions warring in Sherlock’s head. 

“Oh god... you didn’t did you?” John sighed, more saddened this time than nervous or exasperated. “Maybe I should’ve guessed. You nearly had a stroke when I asked you to be my best man.” 

More silence stretched on as Sherlock’s confusion mounted. Surely there’s a large gap between being someone’s best friend and loving that person. 

“Well I do. Love you, Sherlock. Just not in the way my therapist thinks I do. That would just be... untoward. Ridiculous, as I said before. Are you ok? You probably need some time to think, huh. I know that look. Well. I’ll just uh... go get some more groceries, ok? I’ll be back in an hour or so.” 

Sherlock barely heard the door as John headed out. His head was swimming - a crazed mantra of _‘Well I do - love you, Sherlock’_ over and over again. He didn’t know what to make of it- and he still didn’t know several hours later, as he sat motionless in his chair, wondering how in the world someone like John could love someone like him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks so much for the support on last chapter, I don't write fanfic all that often and it feels really good to know there's at least a few people invested in my work! You give me life! 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one, but we get some conflict and action today so enjoy!
> 
> Thanks again! <3

When Sherlock finally realized he had been pondering the topic too long, it was not because of him, but because of John. Actually the absence of John - Sherlock didn’t know how long it had been since John had left the flat, but it was certainly too long. 

He picked up his phone and started typing a sufficiently persuasive text.

2:34pm

_ Need you. 221B. Immediately.  _

_ SH _

Sherlock migrated to the couch and stretched out, waiting for the telltale chime to sound.

It did not sound. 

He scowled at the phone on the floor and picked it up to send another text. 

2:53pm

_ There’s been an intruder - bring your rifle. Dangerous. _

_ SH _

Still nothing. 

3:04pm

_ Come immediately. Imminent Danger. _

_ SH _

3:13pm

_ No need to be haughty John, just because you can see through my bluffs doesn’t mean you can resist them. _

_ SH _

3:18pm

_ Where are you? Come home. Now.  _

_ SH _

3:21pm

_ This is getting tiresome. If you’re angry with me, you could at least tell me what I did wrong. _

_ SH _

3:23pm

_ Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please come home. _

_ SH _

3:24pm

_ John?  _

Sherlock growled and threw the phone across the room. It landed with a thud against the armrest of John’s chair, ricocheting onto the ground. With a huff he curled in on himself, burying his face in the back cushions of the couch. How was he expected to properly come to a conclusion on the state of their relationship if the subject of that relationship was nowhere to be found? Absolutely unacceptable. 

But what was he to do? He couldn’t begin the experiment until he had his test subject, and he was becoming rapidly more and more bored the more time passed without an experiment. Preposterous. What could possibly be keeping John? Usually, even if he was for some reason mad at Sherlock, he still answered his texts. This was highly unusual. Something was wrong. 

No sooner had he thought that than he heard sudden frantic shouting from outside his window. In one swift movement Sherlock leaped off the couch and over to investigate the commotion. 

It was John. 

_ John. _

In the blink of an eye Sherlock was dashing down the stairs, coat slung expertly over his shoulders in a single fluid motion. He practically kicked down the door, instantly identifying the tall darkly-dressed man snarling in John’s face, a wiry arm clamped around John’s neck. 

_ “Sherlock!”  _

There were very few moments in Sherlock’s life that he could describe as “seeing red.” This was one of them. 

Lightning-fast deductions fired in Sherlock’s brain, and in a perfectly calculated set of movements, he socked the offending man in the face, kicked his exposed kneecap, swept his leg out from under him and caught an alarmingly limp John all in quick succession. 

Some sort of animal-instinct overcame him once John’s limp form fell bodily into his chest, and before he knew what was happening he was whispering urgently in John’s ear and touching him with such tenderness it surprised some still-coherent part of his frantic mind. But he didn’t really care because John could barely stand, was still swaying and breathing too hard and was much too red to be healthy and something was  _ really wrong. _

“John, John are you alright? Please speak to me, it’s ok, I’ve got you.”

“Mmhmnuh… She- Sherlock-” 

“Shh, it’s ok, you’re safe now-” 

He was cut off by a loud groan from the mostly-forgotten assaulter on the ground, still clutching his knee and staring blankly at the mess from a bloody nose covering his hands and shirt. 

“Fuck, mate, that  _ hurt-”  _

Sherlock quite literally  _ growled  _ at him. Full-on, teeth-bared, wild-eyed,  _ growled  _ at the squirrely looking man he had just sucker-punched to the face. The man in question - grimey, malnourished, clearly someone who was either attempting to mug John or got paid to attack him, Sherlock’s mind supplied - paled at the sound and ran off as quickly as he could on an injured leg. Either to escape the quickly forming crowd or in fear of Sherlock, he really didn’t care. The man was insignificant. John was  _ hurt.  _

“Oh my god, are you ok? Should I call an ambulance?” Speaking of the crowd, a young woman came running up to them, brown shoulder-length hair and cream-colored purse bouncing along behind her.  _ Young, no more than 8 years out of college. Nurse - no longer practicing. Two cats, no husband, unhealthy sleeping schedule.  _

John groaned and Sherlock clutched him tighter to his chest, not knowing why the sudden appearance of the woman felt so much like a threat instead of an offer of help. 

He mostly-successfully schooled the grimace off of his face and answered “No, he’s mine. I’ve got him.”  _ Why did it come out like that? That’s not what he was supposed to say. _

“He looks hurt! I’m going to call an ambulance.” The young woman pulled out her phone and Sherlock could barely breathe over the instant wave of panic that hit him. 

He was stopped from shouting at her, though, because just at that moment John’s knees buckled and Sherlock was forced to fall to the ground with him to keep him from crashing face-first into the pavement.  _ John, John, Oh John-  _

“John, what’s wrong, look at me come on I’m right here.” He hissed, begging everything at his disposal that John’s unfocused eyes would just clear up and see him and he would be ok and  _ everything’s gonna be ok John and _

Sherlock shook his head violently, trying to clear his own mind so he could think coherently. The woman was a few feet away, clearly already on the phone with an emergency operator. John was showing signs of confusion, dizziness, discoloration, and possibly nausea - all symptoms too intense and lasting too long for just oxygen deprivation to be the cause. He could’ve been drugged, although why would the assaulter drug him before attempting to choke him? Why attempt to choke him in the first place? Why not just mug him and leave? It didn’t matter right then - all that mattered was making sure John was ok. And if he had been drugged… then maybe it was necessary to get him professional medical help. Sherlock could treat the bruises on his face and wrists and slight oxygen deprivation - but he didn’t know what was in John’s system or how to treat it. As detestable as it was, he would have to let the ambulance already screaming their way take him. 

He clutched John closer to his body protectively, feeling John’s chest rise and fall shallowly against his. He shoved his nose into the warm crook between John’s neck and shoulder, not really knowing why he did it, his brain reverting back to a mantra of  _ John safe hurt John John John.  _

As paramedics appeared on scene, swarming around him, yelling to each other and asking him questions, tugging at John’s too-limp arms and pulling him away from Sherlock, his mind buzzed with adrenaline and slight panic. It took an impressive amount of effort not to fight them away, keep them from taking John out of his sight. 

He watched as they put him on a stretcher, rushing him into an ambulance and checking his pulse as they went. A police officer attempted to ask him something, but he barely heard it. For once the world felt like a strange blur around him.  _ What was happening to him? _

It only occurred to him hours later that the woman who had called the ambulance was nowhere to be found. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! Man, I honestly was so surprised when I finished this chapter - it's been sitting in my phone notes for ages! Hopefully you liked it and I promise there will be more interesting content soon.
> 
> Your support gives me life, thank you for every hit and kudos! I'm honestly just so glad I can contribute to a site like this full of such incredibly talented people- I am honored that I get to participate! 
> 
> Stay safe, wear a mask, and I'll see you for chapter 2!


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